|My 'winter gear' from today.|
I added the hat to be dramatic.
We ventured into Campo de Fiori where my friend Shayna recommended I try gelato from a place called Frigidarium. When someone tells you to try gelato from a certain place, you don't ask questions. You just do it. She is going to heaven because of this. It makes you never want to eat Dairy Queen or Haug & Daus or any other wannabe brands again. Naturally, I went in and ordered my favourite flavour (armerena, which is dark sour cherries). But Frigidarium puts a twist on it. They will dip your entire cone or cup of gelato in... Wait for it... HOT NUTELLA! Or, if you want just old fashioned chocolate or even coffee. The way I talk about food in my blogs really make me think I should just write a food blog. This gelato was so amazing, that I am going back into the city again tomorrow, but of course this time, I will get it in a bigger size. I'm having withdrawals from this gelato after trying it only once, and I am seriously considering pooling all the money I have in my wallet, bank account and future retirement fund to buy this place. When it comes to gelato, these people really know what they're doing. Think about it. Cold, creamy, sour cherry gelato smothered in HOT NUTELLA! I also tried a flavour that is yellow and pink. It sounds totally weird, but it has this fancy alcohol in it which is always OK in my books. I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight knowing that I have to wait to try this marvelous treat again. I just might have to pop a gravel to fall asleep immediately and for my mind to focus on sleeping, but really, how is that possible? You readers might think that I am actually crazy, but I'm inviting you to come with me tomorrow to get your hands on this... this... gelato from heaven. But, anyway...
Since we're on the subject of food (a subject I find myself on quite a bit these days), someone from the centre of the city came up to me asked me if I lived in a certain neighborhood. I'm not going to name my neighborhood on this blog due to stalkers, but the one he mentioned was the one I lived in. I told him I did, and he says, "Aha! I knew it. I see you in Da Agastino's all the time!" My face turned what I imagine was the colour of a bright red, Italian tomato. Da Agostino's is the pizza shop by my house. I mean, really, you know you go to the pizza shop way too much when people from the opposite side of town start recognizing you because you're always in there. My favourite man from the shop, Roberto, and I made an agreement. We will sit down together or talk while he's shoveling pizza in and out of the ovens while he speaks in English, and I speak in Italian. I'm nervous because I really don't speak any Italian, so I think this is going to be weak on my part. But hey, this man is a sweetheart, and if I'm surrounded by pizza, then I have nothing to worry about. But I'm proud to say that I actually ate quite healthy today, aside from the gelato, of course. My friend and I continued to wander through the city, and I can't decide if he's gay or in love with me. Either way, I enjoy his company and he enjoys my love of food, which makes us the perfect pair. I saw an incredible pair of snakeskin pants in the window of a store and besides the gelato (I wonder how many times I've said it in this post so far?) these pants are the next thing on my mind. They aren't actually made of snakeskin because they only cost 20 Euros but I would never wear anything made from an animal. Did I mention already that I'm also a vegetarian? No one in Italy seems to understand this, and when I tell people that I don't eat meat because I'm a vegetarian, they tell me they're sorry. The first few people to apologize, I asked them why, and the answer is always the same: It's like a disease, right? Yes, yes it is... This is much easier than explaining the truth.
I literally can no longer concentrate on my writing because I have gelato on the brain, so I am going to the kitchen to make something that will somewhat satisfy me until tomorrow. Remember... If you want to join me, it's called Fridigarium. If you hear gospel music, it isn't the Vatican. It's me with my gelato. (Also, if you lost count as to how many times I said this word in this post, the answer is 11).